Fools Game
by SpyMaster
Summary: Concluding part to the trilogy. The team search for a missing TV producer, Chloe Larson, and along the way deal with anger, guilt and heartbreak. A story about finding yourself when you don't know you're missing. Jack/Sam pairing. Lot's of personal stuff!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** Ok this is the concluding part to my trilogy. Warning, if you haven't read the first two, Walking Disaster and Money Talks some of this might be a little hard to follow as I constantly refer back. This is also AU. It wouldn't have been very AU when I started but that was quite a few years ago now. This trilogy is after season two, dealing with the aftermath of Jack not going to Chicago. However, being AU I'm also adding in elements of the later seasons like a shootout, Danny fans I promise I'm going to do this right for you. Thanks a lot to my first beta Cynically Optimistic for starting me on this journey, Agent P!nk for helping me work through the plot for this, Agent Spade for giving it a once over, Malinche for being a great beta and finally DianeM, the last beta on this journey whose awesome command of the English language is hopefully going to make me a better writer. Finally thanks to jbird for being a constant source of encouragement and for helping us all to keep the faith. This is for everybody at Maple Street. I'll update once or twice a week.

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Chloe Larson sat at the console watching the flickering image on the screen. Her hands moved the dials and switches automatically as she edited the footage they'd taken that day. Strictly, this wasn't part of her job description but she suffered from insomnia and it was comfortable, familiar work, soothing her troubled and anxious mind. She finished editing that take and the last image froze on the screen. Her eyes fixed upon it but she did not see it for what it was. Images burned many years ago onto her memory were assaulting her mind as if she was back there, nineteen again and scared seeing it all for the very first time.

A black, automatic glock pistol was lying on the table in front of her, the color of milk. The colors were so opposite each other, one so potently evil and the other innately calm and pleasant that it sent shivers up her spine. Two clips for the gun were next to it; one was already in the chamber. The acrid smell of gunpowder rose up to assault her nostrils. The gun had already been used once that evening. Slowly she reached down, pausing slightly when the cool, smooth steel touched her hand.

Chloe shook her head violently and brought up the next segment of film, her hands working the dials automatically. Suddenly a loud bumping noise broke the silence. Chloe quickly turned around, startled panic written on her face. The noise could be nothing, something quiet that seemed loud because the footage was on mute and she'd been sitting in the silence for a long time.

"Who's there?" Chloe called out, her voice quivering with fear. The sound of her voice gave her some measure for the noise she had heard, but she still couldn't be sure about it. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was satisfied that nobody was going to appear. Telling herself that she must have imagined it, she shook her head as if that would rid her of the uneasiness she felt and turned back to the console. After taking two deep breaths, she leaned over and flicked the switch into the on position for audio. Somehow she had to try and fill a silence that had stopped being comforting and was now unnerving her, just like it had that fateful evening.

Her breathing shallow and labored from fright, she pushed open the dirty door in front of her. The paint had peeled so badly that it was difficult to discern what color it had originally been, but if it had been painted in accordance with the rest of the room, it was likely to have been brown. She winced as the door creaked slightly as it opened, this small noise emphasizing how quiet it was. She walked in and instantly felt her stomach revolt at the sight in front of her. Involuntarily, she felt her eyes instinctively drawn to the blood splatter on the floor. With growing repulsion, she felt her eyes moving of their own accord, following the splatters to a pool of blood, which then moved into a smear as if somebody had been dragged. The feeling of the gun in her hand did nothing to comfort her as her eyes followed it along further to witness what was at the end of the grisly trail. She was so scared that the only noise she made was a quiet gasp of shock.

Chloe shook herself again and stood up to walk over to the coffee machine at the other end of the room. She rationalized that she wasn't going to get any sleep anyway. Just before she reached the machine, she vanished.

_Ackerman, Coombs and Hurst Associates_

_31 hours missing_

"So why do you think that Kate and Hanna should live with you and not with their mother?" Bernard Scoggins asked analyzing Jack's every move with his trained eyes. He'd been a divorce lawyer for twenty years now and had seen it all: husbands cheating on wives, wives cheating on husbands, domestic violence or just plain irreconcilable differences. Over that time he'd become immune to it; the people he represented were no longer people but cases, clients. This case was different though, he'd known that when he'd taken it on, but he'd accepted it anyway. Maria was his friend, they'd worked together for years, and he cared about the outcome and what it would do to her. As the case wore on, he'd found himself caring more and more, they'd grown closer and closer, until he cared no longer as a friend. This wasn't just a case anymore.

"They belong in New York," Jack replied tiredly.

He'd practiced answering this question and had come up with, what he hoped was, a convincing answer. Now, in this setting, his prepared answer didn't seem right anymore.

"They've lived here all their lives and . . . it's not that I think they shouldn't live with their mother, it's that . . . I didn't want any of this, you know." He started to explain his position, knowing as he did so that the lawyers in front of him didn't care and didn't understand. No matter what he said, he'd never get them to understand. "If Maria stayed in New York this wouldn't be an issue, I wouldn't contest it because I'd still get to see them. However, because they would be living in Chicago, I'd be lucky to see them every couple of weeks and even then only for a few hours."

"What's so unusual about a few hours? How many nights a week did you stay at the office or out of a town or at a hotel . . .?" Scoggins pushed, goading the man in front of him.

"What are you implying?" Jack shot back, eyes narrowing at the tactics being leveled against him.

Subconsciously he leaned forward over the conference table, placing both palms flat down, glaring at Scoggins. His opponent leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, as he exchanged a knowing glance with his colleague. Jack Malone had quite a temper, something else they could use against him. Jack, for his part, felt like he was viewing the scene from two different perspectives. One perspective was through his own eyes, as himself, an angry participant. The other perspective was as a fly on the wall, who was observing the proceedings with detachment. He knew that getting angry with Scoggins wouldn't help; in fact, on the contrary, it had the potential to make things worse. In spite of this knowledge, he just couldn't help himself. What would have happened next nobody would ever know as Jack's phone rang, mercifully interrupting the proceedings.

"Malone," Jack answered, leaning back in his chair again, ignoring the two divorce attorneys.

"Jack, it's Danny. Sorry to call but we've got a new case," Danny informed him, walking out of the bullpen, cell phone in one hand, gun in the other.

Jack looked across at Scoggins and, for the first time in what felt like ages, smiled slightly, relief flooding through him like a drug. Intellectually he knew that he'd have to come back and finish this ordeal, but for now he was safe, he could get out of here.

"Sure. What've you got?" he enquired.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm on my way to the scene now," the younger agent explained.

Back in the bullpen, Danny finished holstering his gun, pressed the elevator button for the ground floor and went on with his report.

"It's BL Studios, over in Queens near the Fresh Meadow District."

"Thanks, Danny, I'm on my way."

Jack pocketed his cell phone and stood up.

"Work, Agent Malone?" Bernard Scoggins inquired with just a hint of sarcasm, anxious to prove his point for the tape.

He already knew the answer but he wanted it for the record. From Maria's testimony, this was typical behavior and it would make good evidence for court. They now had cast-iron proof that no matter what was going on, if he got a call, he would leave. That was not a good characteristic for a parent, particularly one who was seeking sole custody. Jack Malone might not realize it yet, but he didn't have a chance in hell of winning this battle. He might not even have to finish the deposition. They had enough, more than enough, actually.

"Duty calls," Jack shot back, conveying with his eyes exactly what he thought about lawyers, and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note:** Thanks again to DianeM for being a fantastic beta and to the guys at Maple Street for being so encouraging about posting this; I had wondered if too much time had passed. For other people who've helped see chapter one.

* * *

_BL Studios_

_32 hours missing_

Jack walked into the reception area, his previous relief and subsequent good mood at being called away from the torture of his divorce deposition having disappeared. The place teemed with cops, forensics and other uniformed personnel, all bustling about creating a hubbub of noise. Jack carefully picked his way between them in search of Danny, mentally taking in the decor as he went. The walls were a conservative cream color, their blandness alleviated by numerous plaques and photographs. The furniture was in a small enclave and consisted of a couch and two armchairs, all Air Force blue in color, providing needed warmth to the surroundings. The reception desk was oval in shape and had an oak laminate veneer. The name of the company, BL Studios, was carved onto a curved piece of plate glass. The overall image and ambience of the place was elegant. This place didn't scream money; it had class in a very understated way. Jack finally spotted Danny, who was coming out of the door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only', accompanied by a pretty young lady whom he assumed to be the receptionist.

"What've you got?" Jack asked tiredly, breaking into Danny's conversation, which caused his smile to waver slightly.

"Chloe Larson, thirty-nine. She lives in an apartment downtown and works as a television producer here, for BL Studios, which is a subsidiary of CBS. She was last seen in the cutting room at 2:00 AM Tuesday morning by the security guard. He was on his regular patrol and saw her light on, so they exchanged pleasantries," Danny reported, reading the details out of his notebook. Jack frowned in annoyance.

"Why the _hell_ did they wait till now to call us?"

"They weren't shooting yesterday," the younger agent explained with a shrug. "She missed a couple of meetings but apparently that wasn't unusual. When she didn't show up today for filming, the director called it in because _that_ was unusual. Apparently, she never missed a shoot."

Jack nodded; digesting the limited information he'd been given. For the first time since he'd made supervisor eight years ago, he was undecided about how to proceed. The altercation with Vivian a few days before was still fresh in his mind and heavy on his heart. He'd never wanted this, he hadn't asked for his job back and certainly had he known he would never have let them usurp Vivian in favor of him. Regret and indecision reigned free, doubt clouded his every move, the guilt he'd long carried wearied him more than ever, and his only reaction to the emotional repression was anger. Whom he was angry at he wasn't sure: Maria for leaving him and taking his girls, Van Doren for ruining his friendship with Vivian, Sam for finally moving on, or himself for letting it all happen. Jack sighed and began to issue the orders he knew would be wrong however he organized them.

"Ok. Call Sam, get her and Martin on her apartment, then call Viv and get her to set up a meeting with Chloe's boss at CBS. We need to know what projects she was working on, how well BL Studios is doing - the usual."

Danny nodded in acknowledgment, whipping out his cell phone. The mood Jack was in, the mood he'd been in ever since they'd closed the Bates case, meant imparting the news he had was not a good idea. However, he didn't have much of a choice. If Jack found out that he'd known and not warned him there'd be even more hell to pay. His only chance was to get through to Sam before Jack could do a Lenin, or was it Stalin, and shoot the messenger.

"Oh, nearly forgot," he began easily then went on hurriedly, not leaving his boss a single chance to interrupt. "There's a Special Agent Alex Marks from Organized Crime here. She's been crawling all over the suspected crime scene since before I arrived, still there now."

Jack opened his mouth to begin what probably would have turned out to be a rant, just as Danny got through to Sam. With barely disguised relief, Danny shot Jack a feigned apologetic glance as he made his get get-away. Fuming, Jack turned and angrily walked over to the door marked Authorized Personnel. He yanked the door open and stomped through, following the stream of law enforcement personnel. _'Organized Crime, what the hell did they want? Crawling all over his crime scene, __his__ crime scene.'_ Jack walked into the cutting room, fully intent on chewing _Agent Alex Marks_ out.

He spotted a blonde-haired agent in the corner talking to a uniform; the uniform left and she turned around just as he got there. For some unknown reason, he felt all his anger and annoyance beginning to dissipate and he found himself, against his will, observing her curiously. Her appearance from the back was deceiving as was her name. Any name, like Alex or Sam, which had a male and female connotation often led to misconceptions about the femininity of the person, unless you happened to have met them first. That was certainly true here. Alex Marks had shoulder length blonde hair that curved outwards, when it met her shoulders, with an attractive twist. He imagined it was probably always getting in her way. A smattering of freckles broke up an otherwise unblemished face, but that didn't detract from her beauty. In fact, they lent character to her face, which, if anything, added to it. Alex sought out his gaze and shot him an amused smirk before beginning the conversation.

"Agent Malone, I presume?"

Jack nodded, barely able to hide his incomprehensible curiosity.

"Yes, that's right. I'm in charge here," he answered back with his 'don't mess with me' tone, which was gruff and often laced with sarcasm. "May I ask what Organized Crime wants at the crime scene of a missing TV producer?"

Alex smiled briefly as she studied in front of her. He looked tired and stressed, and the loose skin under his chin showed clearly he'd lost weight recently. Her supervisor had warned her that the Missing Persons Unit, and specifically Agent Malone, were having problems at the moment. And what her supervisor hadn't told her, the gossips in the break room certainly had. Rumors had been circulating round the office for sometime regarding his personal situation ever since security had found him sleeping in his office a few months ago. However, she hadn't expected it to be so obvious. She had no idea what the problems were, but for the moment if there were sides to be taken, she was with him, he was definitely hurting.

"Yes, you can," Alex answered pleasantly, Jack's 'don't mess with me' tone having just sunk in and the memory of another story coming to mind - the story of the agent in front of her losing his temper and throwing a chair through one of the glass walls of the bullpen. The show of temper according to the water cooler gossips was unusual, and it had taken the murder of a child and the subsequent release of the killer through lack of evidence to stoke the fire enough for the pot to boil over.

She looked around. The suspected crime scene was crowded with techies and random people being interviewed; they would too easily be overheard here. It didn't matter a great deal whether they were, in fact, not at all. To be honest, it was just a habit that was hard to break.

"Can we talk privately?" she offered then.

Jack nodded and led the way out of the crime scene and back to the corridor. There were a lot of offices there, some unoccupied. Jack ushered Alex into an unoccupied room, carefully closing the door behind them.

"I admit I'm intrigued, Agent Marks," he began, his expression softer, more curious than angry.

Alex found herself smiling at him again, pleased that she'd managed to erase some of the frown lines.

"Twenty years ago a coke dealer was murdered," she started to explain. "This coke dealer was a made man in the New York Mafia. His murder and the death of a low-level addict were found to be connected, but nothing was ever proven."

"Chloe Larson was involved somehow," Jack took a guess, and Alex nodded.

"Yeah, so you might want to get some divers on the bay."

Jack frowned and shook his head at the pessimistic and somewhat hasty prediction. "It was twenty years ago, Agent Marks. I know that the Mafia are famous for their long memory in terms of revenge, but divers on the bay sounds a little premature to me. I like to at least start out thinking that the missing person is alive. Wouldn't you?"

Alex shrugged. She'd heard that his unit worked on the premise of hope as opposed to realism. She'd even heard that it worked out sometimes, the Collins case being an example, but she knew the Mafia. It had almost become procedure to assume death in cases like this.

"I guess," she simply answered. "Anyway I'm a bit hazy on the details so I'm having my supervisor send over the file. As it seems like a safe bet that organized crime is involved, if not responsible, I've been assigned to your unit for the duration of this case."

Jack nodded. He knew that intellectually, he should be annoyed at the intrusion but found himself instead being subconsciously pleased for reasons he didn't quite understand and didn't want to examine too closely.

"Right," was his brief acknowledgement, ending the conversation.

Jack opened the door and gestured for Alex to go first. As she passed him, she accidentally brushed against his shoulder with her own. The unexpected contact gave Jack a feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time, which for the moment he struggled to place. Whatever the feeling was it took him back in time, unknowingly putting a slight smirk on his face, perhaps his bad luck was going to come to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note:** Once again thanks to DianeM for being an awesome beta, any mistakes are my own. Thanks for the reviews. Baraboo, you'll just have to wait and see, I'm promising nothing. Shout out again to Maple Street for the encouragement but thanks to you guys I'm now struggling with a plot bunny caused by Better Angels. It'll have to wait until December; I need 10k more for NaNo. Enjoy!

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_Apartment 132B, Queens_

_33 hours missing_

'Another day, another dollar'

'Same shit, different day'

When did his life become like that? Everyday he found himself dreading going to work; it held none of the promise for him that it once had. He no longer felt the thrill of discovery of a lead, the pride and satisfaction when somebody was returned home, the bitter sting of defeat when they found them dead or not at all. He felt numb and tired, oh so very tired. How long he'd felt like this he couldn't remember. Something must have precipitated this changed outlook on life. It couldn't have happened overnight, right? Surely it hadn't been for as long as it felt? Martin shook his head as he entered Chloe Larson's apartment. It felt sluggish this morning like the cogs were old and creaky and full of cobwebs.

"Morning, Martin," Sam greeted, not looking up from where she was sitting rifling though Chloe's desk.

Martin felt his heart constrict painfully and his emotions increase tenfold at the sound of her voice. If he looked rationally at the way he was feeling, he could identify the problem, the cause and the solution because deep inside he knew that he hadn't felt this way before the Parker case. He knew what that meant, what it always meant and he felt his already abused heart sink a little further even while his mind tried to deny the truth.

"Found anything yet?" Martin asked, walking over to the answering machine. It was one of those new digital ones, all sleek metal and miniature design, all looks and no practicality. His father probably had one, he thought ruefully.

"No, not yet," Sam uttered dejectedly, tossing a sheaf of papers back onto the desk in annoyance. "Nothing here but scripts and don't even bother with the answering machine; it's one of those ones you need to call to get it to play and it needs a password. I've got somebody onto the company that makes it."

Martin nodded and turned his attention to the chest of drawers under the window. With speed and a sense of purpose he didn't feel, Martin started to quickly rifle through the drawers. He found mostly clothes, which didn't surprise him, as the bedroom was probably barely large enough to contain the bed; city apartments were renowned for being high-priced and miniscule. In the third drawer down there was a green lockbox and next to it a black glock handgun.

"Sam," he called to his colleague.

Sam turned round as Martin soberly held up the gun. She sighed and stood up, moving over to take a look at the ammunition. All the bullets were stacked neatly in fifteen bullet clips and a bullet was in the chamber. None of the ammo was what misogynists classed as 'for women'; it was all high piercing-plated, guaranteed to put a kink in anybody's day.

"Wonder what she's afraid of," Sam thought aloud, idly fingering one of the clips.

"Agent Spade," a voice interrupted their musings.

Both Martin and Sam turned round. The FBI's resident tech whiz that was assigned to their unit was standing nervously in the doorway unsure of whether he could come in.

"Got something for me, Steve?" Sam asked, walking over. Martin pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and placed the gun inside.

"Yeah, I just got off the phone with the answering machine company. Apparently the messages are stored on a blue chip, which means that we can bypass the security protocols by . . ."

"Can we listen to the messages?" Sam interrupted. Steve blinked owlishly a couple of times, mentally changing gears before nodding.

"Just give me a second and I'll set it up." Steve moved over to the answering machine and pulled his palmtop out his pocket, plugged a couple of leads in to link the two together and started to tap away.

Sam watched his movements with disinterest, which allowed her mind to wander along to the subject that had started to occupy her thoughts more and more of late - Jack. Working with Jack on the Parker case had felt awkward, but she'd thought that over the Bates case their relationship had improved. However, virtually overnight that had changed, how or why she didn't know. Jack had changed and their relationship had soured in a way it never had before, even after he'd told her it was over and gone back to his wife, even after he'd announced he was leaving for Chicago. Why it had changed now after all that Sam couldn't comprehend.

"Okay," Steve broke into Sam's consciousness, snapping her out of her thoughts and back to reality. "There are four messages, three saved and one new."

"Play them," Martin ordered, handing the newly bagged gun and ammo to the evidence agent before turning his attention to the answering machine.

_'First saved message. Message received Sunday at 11:00 PM,'_ a disembodied voice announced.

There was then a loud crackle and heavy breathing could be heard; somebody was clearly on the line but not speaking. After thirty seconds of this the person hung up and the machine progressed to the next message.

_'Second saved message. Message received Monday at 2:00 AM'. _

Again there was a loud crackle and the heavy breathing resumed. This time, though, a sleepy sounding woman's voice cut in.

_'Hello I am here . . . who is this? . . . Who is this? . . . Say something! . . . What's going on? . . .' _

Again the caller hung up after thirty seconds. The woman's voice, presumably Chloe's, had sounded increasingly panicked as the call had worn on. Sam stiffened, preparing herself for the next message. Martin stood next to her, his impassive face betraying no emotion.

_'Third saved message. Message received Monday at 3:45 AM'._

Once more there was a loud crackle and the heavy breathing began once more. This time, like the last time, a woman's voice cut in.

_'Who is this? . . . What do you want? . . . Why are you calling me?'_

A loud fearful sob was heard before Chloe ended the call herself. Sam sighed and closed her eyes. Chloe was getting affected by each call even more each time; this was not good.

_'First new message. Message received yesterday at 10:00 PM.'_

For the last time a loud crackle filled the air; this time, though, instead of heavy breathing a man's voice came on the line.

_'Chloe where are you? You're not at the studio; you're not answering your cell phone. Are you avoiding me? Look, call me when you get this, ok?'_

Sam looked at Martin and raised an eyebrow.

"Concerned boyfriend, yet it's work that calls it in. Wonder why?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note:** One again props to DianeM for being an awesome beta. Thanks to the people at Maple Street and those that have reviewed and listed me as a favourite. I don't do this for reviews but they do make me happy. Anyway, enjoy!

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_BL Studios_

_33 hours missing_

The security guard was a balding Hispanic man in his late fifties who looked to have developed quite a paunch early in life. He wore the standard guard uniform but with his own modifications: a trail of stains and crumbs littered the front of his jacket and shirt, and he wasn't wearing a tie.

"So you saw Chloe alive at 2:00 AM, correct?" Jack sighed. His patience was wearing thin, although truth be told, it didn't need much these days. Mike Sanchez nodded in answer.

"Sí, Señorita Larson was working in the video room. I saw nothin'…_nada_, thought maybe an intruder, so I checked. We talked. There was no _problema_. So I went back to the front of the building. Saw nothin' else."

"Was anybody else in the building?" Alex asked. Mike stared blankly at her. Jack's eyes narrowed, wondering why he'd decided to go all 'lost in translation' on them now. "Había alguién en el edificio?"

Mike shook his head. "Nada preocupante."

Jack looked at Alex expectantly for a translation. He spoke passable Russian but had never managed to pick up Danny's mother tongue.

"He didn't see anything," Alex translated. Jack nodded, mulling over what else to ask.

"They got CCTV?"

"Sabe si tienen CCTV en el edificio?" Alex asked Mike, who by now was focusing completely on the female agent.

"Sí, el magnétoscopio fue enviado a la tienda para no vi ninguna cosa," Mike replied, gesturing with his hands, glancing at Jack to see if he understood. Jack for his part just looked at Alex. While part of him still hated the intrusion and the audacity that Organized Crime had displayed in assigning one of their agents onto his case, working with her was proving not to be so bad after all.

"No the tape recorder is in for repairs and . . ."

"He saw nothing, I know," Jack finished, a smile flickering briefly on his face, almost extending to his eyes for what felt like the first time in months.

Alex smiled back, grateful that Agent Malone's original gruff demeanor had disappeared for the moment. His earlier comment about starting a case with some hope for a happy outcome flashed across her mind. She could learn from him, so perhaps this assignment wasn't so bad.

"All right, let's head back to the office," Jack suggested, nodding goodbye and thank you to Mr. Sanchez before turning and walking to the exit.

"Muchas gracias por su tiempo, Señor Sanchez. Su ayuda fue muy preciosa," Alex thanked him before turning and walking away in the direction of the exit after Jack. When she caught up with him, their shoulders brushed together. A bit uncomfortable, Jack cleared his throat and veered left to increase the distance between them, hoping that Alex wouldn't think anything of it.

_FBI Headquarters_

_33 Hours Missing_

The call to set up the meeting at CBS's New York headquarters had taken Vivian less time than expected. Normally when they needed to interview a high-level executive, they were given the run-around, but it seemed that, for the moment, the network was willing to co-operate. As Samantha had phoned in to report the existence of a boyfriend named 'Ted', Vivian decided to investigate that angle until any further orders came from Jack.

Usually, she would be entirely comfortable using her own initiative. She knew she was capable enough to decide what was important and what wasn't, and in the past she'd always had Jack's carte blanche approval. While he had always held the supervisor role, they had always worked together like equals in a partnership that benefited them both. Her promotion, subsequent demotion and Jack's reassignment had left that partnership in tatters.

The worst part of it was that she'd been the one who had hammered the nails into the coffin of their friendship. She'd believed that he was capable of being cutthroat and deceitful when he'd actually been more out of the loop than she had. How she had ever managed to convince herself even for the briefest span of time that the support he'd given her over the Parker case had been anything but genuine she didn't know. Now there was a gulf between them of things better left unsaid, but she knew he still cared.

Mrs. Parker's inexplicable suicide had preyed upon her mind, he'd known that, and so he took the time to contact Mr. Parker in the guise of a follow-up interview to close that particular hole for her. Jack taped the interview and transcribed it for her, handing her the document wordlessly the day before in the bullpen. According to Mr. Parker, his wife had suffered from undiagnosed manic depression for years and it wasn't the first time she'd tried to commit suicide.

The peace of mind that came from knowing the answer to why a mother would kill herself while her child was present was nothing compared to the relief that Jack's understated action had given her. Now, somehow she had to find a way to show him that she too wanted to salvage their friendship. Until then, their working partnership would be somewhat awkward with each one testing the boundaries to see where they fell. This would be one of those tests.

Her computer bleeping brought Vivian's mind back to the task at hand. First of all, given that Chloe was a chronic workaholic, if a boyfriend existed, the chances were that he was a colleague. With that deduction, Vivian checked the list of employees at BL Studios for anybody named Ted. There were three. The first was a technician in the Sound Department but he was unlikely, as he was sixty years old. The second was a messenger and he was nineteen, so again unlikely. The third looked more promising. He, like the second, was a messenger but he was closer to Chloe's age at forty. His full name was Ted Simmonds and he had been working for the studio six months. Likely or not, it still needed to be validated by something more substantial than reasonable deduction - something like phone records. These days with computers, they were easy enough to check; the Bureau didn't even have to call the phone company, they could run the search themselves. The data protection lobby had had a field day with that, but had quieted down of late ever since this time-saving measure had saved the life of a little girl from Kansas.

In no time at all, mainly due to the short time frame, the results flashed up on her screen. Smiling, Vivian swiftly picked up the phone and dialed Danny's cell. After just one ring he answered.

"Taylor."

"Hi, Danny I think I've identified Chloe's boyfriend: a Ted Simmonds, he works for the studio."

_BL Studios_

_33 hours missing_

Ted Simmonds worked as a messenger for the studio going between the different lots and editing suites, passing footage between them and notes from the producers and other studio type things, which made him difficult to pin down. However, several phone calls later Danny found him at the _CSI:NY_ lot taking a cigarette break. At first appearances he looked younger than Chloe, with short dark hair and a faint trace of a moustache, dressed in a grubby looking white t-shirt, jeans and a sleeveless green jacket. As Danny approached him, he looked up, dropped his cigarette and put it out with his foot before walking towards him, hand outstretched.

"Are you the FBI?" Ted asked, waiting for a nod from Danny before shaking his hand. "I'm Ted Simmonds. I heard you've been looking for me."

"That's right," Danny replied guardedly. He reached into his left-hand jacket pocket and withdrew his notebook, flicking to a clean page before beginning the questioning.

A lot of people got nervous when notes were taken; not only was it an official record of their story, but it also unnerved a lot of people to see their own words written down - particularly if they were guilty of something.

"Are you Chloe Larson's boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Ted nodded, running a hand through his hair distractedly. "I just can't believe she's missing. I knew she wasn't answering my calls, but I never thought anything had happened to her. She was a very independent woman; I thought perhaps she needed the space. I mean she could look after herself. What do you think happened?"

"We're not sure yet," Danny told him, careful about keeping his answer vague. Something about this guy felt wrong, he could sense it even if he just couldn't put his finger on what it was. "When did you last see Chloe?" he pressed further.

"Three days ago. We had a bit of an argument, nothing serious. It happens all the time, really. That's why I thought she was ignoring me. I did get a little concerned yesterday when she didn't show up for the meeting, but I figured she just needed some time off. She's been working really hard lately trying to get this new show ready for the fall season," Ted explained, shifting position uncomfortably and running his hand through his hair again.

'_He looked every inch the concerned boyfriend,' _Danny thought but he just couldn't erase the nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Maybe he was just becoming paranoid; that was what happened when you stayed in this job too long, particularly when every minute of your working day you have to evaluate everybody, even your co-workers.

"Where were you last night between the hours of 10:00 PM and 4:00 AM?" Danny asked, gradually convincing himself, given the lack of any other indicators apart from his gut, that there was nothing here but a concerned boyfriend.

"I was at home, I watched some TV I had recorded off TivO, _CSI: Vegas_ style, and then I went to bed," Ted replied shaking his head a little. "I thought I'd see her today. She never ever missed a shoot, not even when she was sick. If I'd known . . . .?" Ted trailed off. Danny snapped his notebook shut; there was nothing here.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Simmonds. We'll be in touch if we have to talk to you again," Danny told him. Ted nodded in acknowledgement, pulling out his lighter and cigarette packet. Danny intently watched his anxious movements for a moment, searching for anything slightly suspicious, before walking away, having found nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note:** Once more props to DianeM for being an amazing beta. Also, I forgot to mention that the Spanish in the last chapter was translated expertly by Malinche, so thanks for that. This is mostly casefile but there's some good stuff coming up. Enjoy!

* * *

_FBI Headquarters_

_34.5 hours missing_

"Thank you for coming in at such short notice, Mr. Fennings." Vivian walked into the interrogation room, placing a cup of coffee on the table between them before taking a seat.

Danny, who had entered the room behind her, decided to lean on the wall beside the observation mirror. It was his classic pose when he wanted to casually intimidate interviewees. When he really wanted to intimidate them he leaned on the table and got really close, but this pose meant that he was looking down on them and he could use his intense stare to make them lose their calm façade. Not that Mr. Fennings looked like he needed it; he'd been sweating long before they entered. Interrogation rooms could do that to perfectly innocent people, but it always got the young man wondering whether they had something to hide.

"Not a problem. CBS is always glad to co-operate with law enforcement," Fennings replied. Vivian's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the man in front of her. He sounded sincere enough, but he was refusing to meet her eyes.

"Could you tell me what projects Chloe was working on?" Vivian asked, adding her own stare to Danny's potent offering. This interview was going to be all business from now on.

"Certainly," Fennings smiled, trying to reduce the tension in the room. His smile didn't meet his eyes, though, and failed completely after only a couple of seconds. "Chloe was currently contracted as a producer on two television shows and part of the development team on a third. I hope you'll excuse me if I don't go into detail, but hopefully these shows will turn into next season's ratings winners and so I'd hate for a rival network to get any hint of what we have planned."

Vivian turned and shared an amused glance with Danny. People in the industry were all the same, paranoid and egotistical, but as much as it would be amusing to make him spill all the details, it wasn't necessary to the investigation. Therefore, they would have to let that point slip.

"Any problems on any of these projects? Personality clashes, that kind of thing?" Vivian continued, preparing to take notes.

"No, not at all, nothing like that. BL Studios is small, everybody pretty much knows everybody. Chloe had worked there for five years; she was well liked and respected a great deal. There were arguments, I'm sure, but television production is a high stress environment and I'm pretty sure that they were all minor and resolved by the end of the day. Any massive spats and I would have heard about them."

"Okay, so there are no particular tensions that stick in your mind?" Vivian pressed, Danny remaining the silent partner. Fennings just shook his head. "What about money? How is BL Studios doing financially?"

Danny frowned. It could just be his imagination, but he could have sworn that Fennings looked alarmed at the mention of money for an instant before returning to his nervous attitude. Perhaps he wanted a lead so badly he was inventing one. It had just been a split second, but it was definitely something to check with Martin, though.

"Fine, I think. I don't have anything to do with that, that's the Finance Department. They haven't disappointed us, so we keep them funded. That's the basis of the relationship. I don't think that there are any irregularities. I'm sure that I would have been notified if that was the case," Fennings stopped, suddenly realizing he'd been babbling.

Forever patient, Vivian paused for a moment until the man had collected himself. "Do you know if Chloe had any friends at the studio?"

"No I don't," he replied abruptly. "BL Studios isn't the only studio that I manage. I can't possibly know personal details about each employee. Now, if that's everything, I really do have a lot of work to do."

Fennings stood up to emphasize that he really would like to leave. Vivian exchanged a look with Danny. They had barely begun to scratch the surface. According to his PA, he met with Chloe at least once every two weeks for a briefing on each project's status, so he was definitely being evasive. However, they had no choice; they had to let him go. All they had were suspicions and vague ones at that.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Fennings." Danny shook his hand, knowing that he didn't look very grateful. "We may need to talk to you again. It would also be helpful for our investigation if you could send over all the financial details that you have for BL Studios. That won't be a problem, will it?"

"No, not at all," the producer swallowed hard, confirming Danny's earlier suspicion about the money. "I'll have my PA talk to the Finance Department and get them sent over as soon as possible." He was halfway out of the door before he'd finished the sentence. Derek was waiting outside to escort him downstairs.

_FBI Headquarters_

_34.5 hours missing_

He was so very tired. Martin stared blankly at his screen, tapping the keys and going through the menus on autopilot, pausing occasionally to take a sip of coffee. It was at times like these that he was thankful for the path his career had taken. If starting in the Bureau working in the White Collar Fraud Department had done anything for him, it had made searches like this practically second nature. It was comfortable, familiar work, which made it a relatively easy assignment so he could conserve his energy.

He hadn't been sleeping and when he had managed to fall asleep, he'd had weird dreams. The dreams seemed familiar, but he couldn't pin down how exactly, as the details were predictably hazy. Working when he was this tired wasn't safe; he himself had told Danny that a couple of days ago. Never let it be said that Danny didn't keep a promise. During the Bates case, Danny had promised to take him to a 'Gentleman's Club' to help take his mind off Sam. It had turned into a long night, as Danny hadn't wanted to leave till he felt better. In the end he'd had to fake enthusiasm to be able to go home.

As his mind was wandering, Martin nearly missed the lead. Thanking whatever deity had made him check the numbers twice, Martin printed out the relevant figures and went to find Jack.

_FBI Headquarters_

_34.5 hours missing_

"Detective Ray," Jack held out his hand for the old man to shake as Derek started to fade into the background, having delivered his charge successfully to Jack's office. "I'm Special Agent Jack Malone and this is Special Agent Alex Marks. Thanks for coming in." Steve Ray waved away the thanks good-naturedly and took a seat.

"Hey, anything that gets me away from the wife. I had thirty-five good years on the force and the golf course just isn't the same." Jack nodded, taking the seat opposite him.

It was clear that Steve Ray had meant the comment to come across as a light-hearted jibe, but the obvious sentiment behind the words made him sound miserable.

"Do you remember the case? You have been briefed, right?" Alex forged ahead, conscious of the uncomfortable silence and keeping her comments all of the business variety.

"Yes, I think every homicide cop remembers the day we heard the Clown had been killed. His murder was the first non-gang bang killing of a Mafia-made man in years before and since," Steve Ray explained, his eyes growing slightly misty as he remembered the days when he'd been at the top of the game.

"The case file was very thin and there wasn't much in Jimmy Watts' file either. All I managed to gather was that the same gun was used to commit both murders. There must have been more connecting them than that though, wasn't there?" Alex continued, her pen poised for taking notes.

"Yes, yes, of course," Steve Ray replied, dragging himself back to the present day and the task in hand. "I was the detective of record on Eddie Mercury's murder. Another detective handled Jimmy Watts. As I recall, he started with the obvious and tried to interview Jimmy's girlfriend, Michelle Bygraves, but her brother Peter kicked up a hell of a fuss. When they finally did manage to interview Michelle, they'd have to have been blind not to notice why, she'd been raped." Steve Ray paused, watching the two agents' reactions.

"Let me guess, the Clown was the rapist," Jack concluded, rolling his eyes. He understood that this guy missed being on the job, but enough of the dramatic pauses.

"Yes. DNA profiling was still in its infancy, but there was no doubt. The Clown investigation had begun first so I took over Watts as well, which is when we learned about the gun. Since both Peter and Michelle had alibis for the time that Jimmy and the Clown were killed, Chloe was the only viable suspect. I interviewed her myself. She claimed she didn't know the Clown and that Jimmy had gotten high on coke and gone crazy. Fearing for her safety, she had ran away and when she had came back, he was dead. We never recovered the gun, so we couldn't even begin to prove any differently, so the case stalled."

"You think that Chloe killed the Clown and Watts?" Jack asked, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Steve Ray shrugged, "Not really, but it's the only conclusion we could draw."

"Right," Jack muttered, turning in time to see Martin approach his office. Before he could knock, Jack waved him in.

"Jack, I think you should take a look at this. Guess who just bought a new Porsche?" Martin placed the printout on the table in front of his boss. Jack scanned the first few lines of numbers, not seeing what Martin had picked out.

"Mike Sanchez," Jack guessed. He'd been suspicious of Sanchez ever since he pulled the 'lost in translation' card. No self-respecting studio would hire a security guard who didn't speak and understand good English.

"No, Max Fennings."


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note:** DianeM you're awesome and Maple Street thank you. This is an exciting bit with hints of JS and where I'm tying in the Season Four idea. Enjoy!

* * *

_Mr. Pizza_

_36 hours missing_

"So this is where all the mobsters hang out," Danny laughed as he got out of the car, his eyes swiftly and professionally taking in the area.

They were in one of the less salubrious areas of Bronx; half of the buildings were boarded up and the other half looked on their way out, they were all covered in graffiti. A few discarded shopping carts, one with its wheels removed, littered the sidewalks. This was an area clearly in transition.

"Hey, don't knock it," Alex smiled, walking round the car to stand next to Danny. "Tony Mercury loves pizzas. When he's not on mob business, he spends all of his time here, just making pizzas. They've even made it his nickname: Tony 'The Pizza Man' Mercury."

"Yeah, I bet he makes a mean slice. Hey, Martin, maybe if you ask real nice he'll make you one with extra pepperoni," Danny teased. His friend's pepperoni fetish was well known throughout the office. Martin just smiled, accepting the joke, but as usual of late, the smile failed to meet his eyes.

"Hey, this is …" Alex started to turn to face them when a crack of a shot rang out.

Instantly, all three federal agents reached for their weapons and dove for the nearest available cover. There's nothing quite like the sound of a shot to get the adrenaline flowing, and for Alex, it seemed almost like everything was happening in slow motion. She started to run to the left, practically leaping over the car in her effort to get it between her and the bullets. Danny ran to the right into the alley beside the pizza place, whereas Martin dove to the left in the general proximity of behind the car.

Alex was the first to return fire, as she was the best placed to get a good shot and make their opponents hit the dirt. Taking advantage of this temporary lull, Danny moved forward, hugging the wall, gun up and ready. He signaled to Alex that he intended to go in fast and low. In response, she nodded, wordlessly confirming any covering fire she gave would be aiming high.

That arranged, Danny didn't even stop to take a deep breath before diving through the door; he hit the polished linoleum floor and slid a couple of feet before managing to raise his gun. In less than a minute the gun battle was over.

Danny unsteadily got to his feet, his ears still ringing from the sound of gunfire and his nose still irritated by the acrid smell of gunpowder. He could no longer see either of his fellow agents by the car. Without pausing to clear the pizzeria, Danny half ran out towards the car. He was nearly behind it when another shot rang out.

_Reel Ranch, New Jersey_

_36 hours missing_

"Nobody home," Sam reported, stepping down from the entrance to Max Fennings' home. Even from the front, the house looked huge and custom built in a Mediterranean style. It seemed that new Porsches weren't the only things that had been on Mr. Fennings' shopping list.

Jack nodded; wasted trips were part of the job, although he hadn't expected that this trip would be wasted. They'd phoned in advance and he'd spoken to Max Fennings himself, telling him that they wanted to speak to him regarding some financial irregularities at BL Studios. He'd been pleasant and promised that he'd be here. Jack sighed. He should have known that that kind of reaction was too good to be true.

As he turned away to walk back to the car, a wisp of smoke caught his eye. It was hovering just above one of the doors to the three-car garage. Jack stared at the closed doors and the smoke for a long minute.

"Hey, are you ok?" Sam walked behind him and touched his arm lightly, even more concerned when Jack didn't appear to notice. She was just about to try again when his facial expression changed to one of complete horror.

"No," Jack yelled, leaping over the flowerbed that bordered the path to the front door and sprinting across the grass that lay in front of the house towards the garage. Alarmed, Sam ran after him.

The closer he got to the garage, the surer he became of what he would find inside. He could smell it now, feel its choking nature fill his senses. Panicked, he reached down and opened the garage door. Carbon monoxide fumes came rushing out. Coughing and covering his face with his arm, Jack forced himself to walk inside. He didn't need to look to see the hose duct taped to the exhaust, the passenger window open a little at the top to allow the hose entrance to the car.

Completely focused, Jack threw open the driver's door. Max Fennings was lying inert in the driver's seat, his face cherry red from the fumes. Jack reached in and grabbed his shirt with both hands, half-dragging, half-lifting him from the car and out of the garage.

"Ambulance is on its way," Sam told him, helping him pull the limp body a couple more feet away from the poison gas still escaping from the garage. Desperately, Jack felt for a pulse. When he couldn't find one, it only confirmed what he had feared as soon as he saw how full the garage was with fumes.

"It's too late," Jack muttered in a defeated tone. He stood up and shakily wiped his face, suddenly aware of how grimy he was.

"Jack," Sam began stepping forward, easing the distance between them. Jack looked up and met her eyes for a moment. His stare was so full of pain, and, for a moment, she had the impression that he'd let her in once again. However, as suddenly as he had seemed to seek it, Jack broke the fugitive, almost nostalgic connection. He turned on his heels and trudged away, his shoulders sagging.

_Mr. Pizza_

_36.5 hours missing_

Sirens' wailing was the only noise Danny Taylor could hear. The shrill alarm cut through his semi-conscious state, echoing painfully in his mind, impairing his ability to think clearly. He had a pounding headache. The pain behind his eyes was like a hangover, except he'd been sober for eight years, and he hadn't had a drink.

He wanted it all to stop: the siren, the pain, and his own growing feeling of unease. He could feel the memory, the realization, of how he came to be in this situation, teetering at the edge of his consciousness. That was something he didn't want to face right now, something he didn't want to feel.

Suddenly a new sensation started to assault him. He could feel a cool wind tickling his right arm, teasing his shirtsleeve, and he became aware of how cold he was. Involuntarily, Danny shivered, and as he did so, a new sound cut through his consciousness.

"We got one alive."

The words started echoing round his brain, joining the ever-present wail of the siren jumbling together until he felt physically sick. Danny slowly opened his eyes, almost shutting them again immediately. Red and blue flashing lights were bouncing and invading his vision from every direction. Struggling to think coherently, Danny decided he needed to see exactly where he was before his memory confronted him with the answer.

Danny gingerly turned his head to the left and what he saw made him retch, causing a paramedic to hurry faster to his aide. Lying next to Danny, bloodstained and broken, with skin paler than death itself was Martin. At the nightmarish sight of his colleague and friend's battered body, Danny slipped back into welcome unconsciousness.

_Reel Ranch, New Jersey_

_37 hours missing_

The flashing lights of police cruisers pierced the growing dusk, the sirens lay silent and the people moved slowly. There was no need to hurry as there was nobody to save. Jack watched as Fennings' body was wrapped in black plastic, the harsh zipper closing him off from the world, ready for the trip to the morgue. In his hand he held Fennings' suicide note, the source of his oppressive feeling of failure. It was short and simple, penned by a desperate man who needed to cleanse his conscience before ending it all.

"_This was the only way, I couldn't go to jail. I'm sorry for what I've done and I hope that my family can find it in their hearts to forgive me. Max Fennings."_

"Jack," Sam touched him gently on his arm. He looked up at her, but turned away almost immediately; he didn't want to see the concern in her eyes and know that it was only merely professional now. "We'll find her, Jack," Sam continued. "She's probably buried on the property somewhere; it's large enough, and I've got some locals combing the grounds."

"Good," Jack managed, his eyes drawn to the morgue gurney. _They were too late, too goddamn late. He was too late, too goddamn late._

"Jack," Sam touched him on the arm again, "Your phone's ringing."

"Malone," Jack answered, disconcerted that he hadn't heard it ring. He always heard the phone ring, it was a constant.

"Jack, it's Alex."

Alex paused for a second, distracted by the sound of a siren nearby. She glanced over her shoulder to watch the crime scene van arrive and pull up behind the mortuary wagon. The time for ambulances had been and gone. They'd tried to make her go to be checked out but she'd refused. She'd been the one standing directly in the line of fire and yet she didn't have a scratch on her.

"There's been a shooting."


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note:** DianeM is awesome and has amazing beta skills. Any mistakes are my own. Thanks to Maple Street for being such a nice place for J/S fans to hang out. The last bit of this is new, I haven't posted it anywhere before so next chapter is all new stuff. I finished at uni yesterday and now have a whole month off so I'll be working on the Better Angels and Christmas fic I promised. Sorry it's a day late but I was very busy yesterday with tests and then packing and driving home. Enjoy!

* * *

_NYC Hospital_

_Half an hour later_

_'This can't be happening. Not now. Not to my team.'_ Jack thought as he ran through the entrance into the bustling ER. Biting back a surge of bile, adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Jack stood at the entrance, scanning all around for the sight of either of his two male colleagues. He couldn't see them. Instead, he saw harassed doctors in white coats over various colors of scrubs going from bed to bed, crash cart to crash cart, gurney to gurney, making diagnoses and issuing orders. Nurses and orderlies dashed about at the doctors' bidding, creating a blur of activity. The activity wasn't what brought a new wave of terror over him; it was the sights and smells of the place. Bloodied bodies, screaming children, crying relatives, and pain, so much pain. It brought back memories of every failure, every time they'd failed to find the missing person alive or relatively unhurt, every time they'd lost one.

Swallowing hard, Jack walked with purpose over to the reception desk. As he pushed through, annoyed and angry, comments followed him uttered by the people waiting in line. In his desperation, he didn't notice their annoyance. The receptionist looked at Jack as he, with an urgent tone, tried to bring some semblance of order to the chaos swirling in his mind.

"I need _any_ and _all_ information you have on the two federal agents brought in an hour ago, Special Agents Martin Fitzgerald and Danny Taylor." The receptionist nodded.

"I'm afraid that I can't give out any information to non-family members or until I've seen some identification," the woman stated in a cool, professional detached voice. Jack could have throttled her.

"There's your damned identification." Jack practically ripped his ID out of his back pocket and threw it at the receptionist. "You don't seem to understand. You've got two of MY people, _MY_ PEOPLE, lying _somewhere_ in this hospital."

"Jack!"

Hearing the sound of his name, he spun round in shock and saw somebody who, for all he knew, was close to death standing amidst the bustle of the ER. Ignoring the remonstrations of the upset receptionist, he hurried over to where his colleague and friend stood.

"Danny, I thought . . . you okay? You don't look so good, what are you doing? Shouldn't you be in bed?" he anxiously inquired.

Danny weakly held up his one good arm to ward off the flow of questions, swaying slightly with the movement. He didn't look well at all. He was as white as Jack's shirt, the florescent lighting making his skin almost appear waxy. His left shirtsleeve was slit up the arm and saturated in drying crimson blood. A thick bandage was wrapped around his upper arm, the only apparent injury he had suffered.

"They wouldn't tell me anything about Martin, so I thought I'd go find something out," At that Danny swayed violently. Worried, Jack grabbed hold of him and guided him over to the nearby seating row of white plastic chairs where, luckily, one had just become available.

"Danny," Jack sighed unwilling to tell Danny off properly given the circumstances, particularly because if he was in Danny's shoes, he would more than likely do the same thing.

"Do you know anything?" Danny fixed his dark eyes onto Jack as he transformed in that instant to a scared, powerless little boy. Jack shook his head.

"I'll find out in a minute. Now do you want to tell me what happened?" Danny closed his eyes, seeing again the image of a pale and bloodied Martin.

"There was so much blood, Jack." Danny's voice cracked. In the last two hours, he'd been shot, his friend and colleague had been shot, and now he was being asked to relive the experience - it was just too much. Jack cursed himself for being so insensitive, and for putting his need to know and to understand before his friend. Danny was too shocked to be able to tell him anything and he had all the time in the world to learn what had occurred later. Now was the time for comfort and nothing else.

Jack carefully placed his left hand firmly onto Danny's right shoulder, attempting to comfort the younger man. The person sitting on Danny's right looked between the two agents before standing up and vacating his seat in an understanding gesture. He could always stand, or maybe he'd be lucky enough to find another one; whatever the case, that injured man needed the other man's comfort, more than what could be provided by the positions they were currently in. Jack acknowledged the small sacrifice with a small smile and took the seat before putting his arm around Danny's shoulders in an awkward kind of embrace.

"It'll be all right, Danny, I promise," Jack murmured. Danny turned his head to stare at him, his eyes showing skepticism.

"How can it ever be all right, Jack?" he asked. Jack didn't answer because he wondered the same thing.

_NYC Hospital_

_1 Hour later_

"Excuse me, excuse me," Samantha pushed her way through the line to the reception desk, brandishing her badge. When she reached the front, she leaned on the desk and held the badge in front of the receptionist's face. "FBI, I need any information you have on Special Agents Danny Taylor and Martin Fitzgerald."

The receptionist looked up and pasted on a fake smile. "Naturally," she started mechanically tapping away on the keyboard. "Agent Taylor is in room 401 and Agent Fitzgerald is in surgery," she announced woodenly, displaying as much emotion as a cardboard cut-out would have.

"Thank you," Samantha muttered, too pre-occupied to notice the receptionist's lack of feeling. Had she noticed, she probably would have been enraged and saddened that the devastation that was currently rocking their lives didn't affect anybody else in quite the same way. Without a thought, however, she turned and hurried down the corridor, the doors banging shut behind her.

She felt sick. When Jack had got the call, all he'd managed to tell her was that Danny and Martin had been involved in a shooting. He'd ordered her to stay at Fennings' house and manage the scene until another FBI agent could get there to relieve her. That half hour had been the purest form of hell she could ever remember. She knew practically nothing and she could do nothing to help. Never in her life had she felt so powerless.

'_What had they done to deserve this?' _ The thought flashed through her mind. Had anybody thought the same when she'd been shot? Had they felt the same feeling of helplessness? Since the bookstore incident, she'd hated hospitals, spending as little time in them as possible. She hated everything about these institutions; she hated the dirty colored linoleum floor; she hated the dull cream colors of the walls; she hated the florescent lighting that flicked and made everybody look pale and sickly; finally, she hated the antiseptic smell which pervaded everywhere and even after you'd left seemed to cling to you, and your clothes, as an ever present reminder of where you'd been.

Room 401 was just up ahead. Without slowing down, Sam rounded the corner. Danny was lying in the bed, despondently staring at the ceiling. Vivian was sitting next to him, her hand placed over his, the only means of comfort she could offer. When Sam cautiously walked in, the older woman looked up. Her expression made Sam feel a little less alone as it mirrored how she felt inside. Sam's eyes flicked to the other side of the bed, to the empty waiting chair.

"Where's Jack?" Sam asked, walking round the bed and sinking gratefully into the chair.

"He was here, but he went to the scene," Vivian shrugged showing her disbelief at Jack's action. As if he's just noticed her presence, Danny turned his head slightly to look at the latest arrival.

"How's Martin?" he asked, his voice cracked and devoid of emotion.

"Still in surgery," Sam simply replied, Danny turned back to stare at the ceiling. "He'll be okay, Danny." She got no response.

_Mr. Pizza_

_1 hour later_

"What the hell happened?" Jack yelled the instant he caught sight of Alex. Alex turned towards him and Jack instantly wished he could go back and modify his tone of voice. He sounded pissed; hell he was pissed, but he shouldn't take it out on her. She looked weary, her shoulders slumped, her posture defeated.

"We were just walking towards the pizzeria when two men inside opened fire. Both Danny and I returned fire -- the paramedics pronounced them both dead half an hour ago. Forensics are all over it at the moment. The shooters have been identified as a Frank Rosseti and Nico Giovanni, both junior members of the mob."

"What about Tony Mercury? That also doesn't explain why they suddenly opened fire on MY agents," Jack said his voice softening and his anger ebbing away. It was just all so senseless. He could see where Martin had fallen, the sickeningly large puddle of blood left behind. They were carrying out a body bag now, one of the mobsters. It just didn't make sense, why had they thrown their lives away?

"Tony was the third shooter; he came out of nowhere and shot at Danny when his back was turned. He was running down the street when he fired, which threw his aim off. I fired back but didn't chase him. I stayed to administer first aid." Alex was looking more troubled as her report progressed; now firmly addressing it to Jack's shoes. Jack placed a finger under Alex's chin to make her look at him.

"You did the right thing," he reassured. Yes, it would have been nice to have caught the guy, if only to know why this had all happened, but chasing an armed suspect on your own was against procedure anyway. He didn't normally agree with procedure, but in this case it was definitely advisable. He would never want her to get hurt.

"Maybe,"


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors Note:** Thanks to DianeM for betaaing and thanks to hotchner for the review, it made me smile. This is all totally new, never before been posted and there are developments on the JS front.

* * *

_FBI Headquarters_

_3 months later_

Martin stepped out of the elevator into the Missing Persons Unit and sniffed hard. Coffee and photocopier toner, it was good to be back. He'd been in the hospital four weeks after being shot. He should have stayed for another two, but when his parents started making noises about visiting, he knew he had to get out of there. The frequent phone conversations were bad enough, particularly given the arguments he could tell were hanging heavily over the other end. His mother had never been happy with him following his father into the FBI.

"Danny," Martin called out as soon as he caught sight of his fellow agent, who was standing in the bullpen picking up papers off the table. "I've missed you, man."

Danny froze when he heard Martin's voice, hoping against hope that it hadn't been him; hearing it again only confirmed the rumors he'd heard that morning. Trying to look normal, Danny turned around and smiled, trying to look pleased at this development, not that he wasn't pleased that Martin was well enough to return to work, because he was, most definitely; he just didn't want to face him. It was his fault that Martin had been so badly hurt in the first place; he'd distracted them with jokes so they hadn't noticed that they'd had company until bullets started flying. He'd then failed to protect him, he'd been standing further forward than Martin and yet had escaped relatively unscathed. It was ironic that he'd been worried about Martin having his back during the Bates case when he'd failed Martin so spectacularly.

"Danny," Martin frowned at his friend, who seemed to have frozen upon catching sight of him. Danny started at his name being called and, acting on autopilot, took Martin's hand and briefly gave him a brotherly hug. "How have you been?" Martin asked, idly looking through the papers on the bullpen table. "I haven't really seen you,"

Danny winced inside at the forced casualness in Martin's tone. His cowardice and failure to visit except when the whole team had gone down had hurt his friend.

"I know I'm sorry," _for everything_ "I've been really busy. I finally took the bar exam and my brother got out of prison," Danny tailed off. They were excuses not reasons and, from the look on Martin's face, meant that he'd interpreted that he wasn't as important to Danny as these other tasks. That was so far off base he was tempted to correct him, except that would still leave Martin without an explanation as to why he'd been a poor friend; better this than the truth. Martin didn't remember what had happened; he didn't know how badly Danny had failed him. While Danny could take Martin's disappointment -- after all, distance meant less chance to hurt him -- he could not take Martin blaming him.

"Martin, good to have you back." Viv walked in and hugged Martin. Sam was just behind her and, after a moment's hesitation, hugged Martin as well. Martin wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not, but her hug seemed to last longer than Vivian's. Maybe . . .

"It's fitting that you're back today," Vivian continued, "because a new lead has turned up that sheds new light onto Chloe Larson's disappearance."

"Which is?" Martin asked, unconsciously moving his hand to cover his right side where he'd been shot. This small action didn't go unnoticed by Danny, causing a fresh wave of guilt.

"Early yesterday morning an FBI team raided a suspected ID forger. They found the usual stuff along with a box full of ID's that weren't fake." Jack walked into the bullpen waving a case file in the air, which he dropped onto the table as everybody took a seat. "It seems this forger wanted an insurance policy, and when he provided new ID's to his clients, he offered to dispose of their old documents. He kept them instead; one of the ID's in the box belonged to Chloe Larson."

"I thought that she was dead," Vivian said as she pulled the case file over towards her and flipped it open, exposing the familiar picture that was placed on the whiteboard during the active investigation.

"Dead people don't need new ID's," Sam said dryly, "Are we re-opening the case?"

"Not completely. Apparently there's not enough to go on for that. So, we're still working on the Black case. A number of units and agencies are interested in this forger but given the time-sensitive nature of our investigation, he's on route to our interrogation room as we speak, Jack said with a smirk."

"Time sensitive?" Martin said incredulously. Jack nodded solemnly.

"Yes. Now, Danny, I want you and Samantha to go and talk to the wife again. Roger Black might be a private doctor, but they are living well beyond their means. Martin, I want you to look at the CCTV footage of the doctor's car park; Vivian will brief you on the case, after doing that, you and I will interview our forger." Everyone nodded in acceptance of their assignments and got up and started heading for their various destinations. Jack sighed in satisfaction as he watched them go, walking to his office. It had been a hard few months, but with Martin back, everything was just starting to slide into place. His divorce hadn't gone well; he'd lost the custody battle, although he did wonder whether he'd ever really expected to win. However, he'd been well supported through it. His friendship with Vivian had been repaired; it wasn't quite as good as new, but with the aftermath of the shooting, they'd both forgotten the recent discord between them so as to better support Danny and Martin. Plus, brushes with death, even if it wasn't you in that situation, always make you reconsider your priorities. A friendship was far more important than any misunderstandings or hurt feelings. Jack picked up the phone and dialed a number he'd grown to know of by heart the last few months. Then there was . . .

"Marks,"

"It's me," Jack identified himself, leaning back in his chair and smiling. At the other end of the line, Alex did the same, idly fiddling with the cord of the phone.

"We're both on company time, Agent Malone, tsk tsk," Alex teased keeping an eye out for her boss. Over the last few months she'd got caught on the phone to Jack more than once.

"I know that, but this is strictly work related," Jack countered, "There's been a development in the Larson case?"

"Oh," Alex sat up intently; he definitely had her attention.

"It appears that she may still be alive." Alex was sure she wasn't imagining the slight rebuke in his voice. Okay, it was true that whenever the Larson case came up, she commented that he had never put divers on the bay. And with the failure to find a body at Max Fennings' house, it was the favorite place for many amateur, and sometimes not so amateur, killers for a body dump. "They found her ID at the place of a master forger."

Outside Jack's office, Derek the street agent from downstairs rapped lightly on the glass. The forger was in interrogation. Jack nodded and stood up.

"I've got to go, the forger has arrived."

"Okay, keep me posted," Alex paused for a moment, "We still on for tonight?"

"Barring major developments, yes," Jack replied, "Looking forward to it."

_FBI Headquarters_

_5 minutes later_

"Tell me about this woman," Jack ordered, firmly placing Chloe's picture in front of the forger. He looked at the picture for a long moment before looking back up with amused eyes at Jack.

"Yeah, I know this woman, did her a full set short notice like."

_~ Flashback Forger's Office ~_

Chloe Larson walked hesitantly into the forger's office, her arms wrapped around herself protectively like she was hugging herself. The forger came behind her, smiling widely and displaying a mouth full of fillings.

"So what can I do you for?"

"She needs a full set, everything to start a new life," the forger nodded, noticing the man place his hand on Chloe's shoulder, how she stiffened slightly, not out of fear but out of repressed anger.

"You don't need a set?"

"No, they aren't looking for me." The forger had been in this business too long to ask whom they were running from. By the look of her, at least he was fairly certain it wasn't the cops, but that did beg the question exactly what the nervous looking lady in front of him had done to need his special services.

"Well, take a seat,"

_~ End flashback Forger's Office ~_

"There was someone with her?" Vivian questioned, her mind rapidly firing through all the possibilities. Perhaps Chloe had found out about Max Fennings' embezzlement, he offers to set her up with a new life. There was just the problem of why 'Chloe' needed to disappear to be bought off.

"Yeah, he's the one who paid, Tim, Tom something." Jack and Vivian shared a glance. Not Max Fennings, but the boyfriend, _Ted_ Simmonds. Now that was a fresh lead.

_FBI Headquarters_

_2 hours later_

"Okay, we've been given the go-ahead to officially reopen the investigation. Luckily, the Black case seems to be wrapping up. Martin spotted a known addict, Will Steer, on the tape, behaving suspiciously. The PD is looking for him. In the meantime, I want Danny and Viv to run background checks on all the major players here again. Fennings, Simmonds, Mercury, Mike Sanchez (the security guard) as well as he was the last person to see Chloe. Martin, I want you to track down Ted Simmonds. We need to talk to him yesterday. Samantha, use your contacts in the PD to see if you can get a line on Tony Mercury. I know he's laying low, but we never did get a satisfactory explanation behind the shooting," Jack tailed off, watching Martin for signs of trauma, thus missing the color drain from Danny's face, images from the 'incident,' as it was officially termed, coming to the front of his mind as always happened whenever he thought about it. Martin always starred in these images, his bloody and broken body, so pale and lifeless on the ground.

Danny came too from his thoughts and noticed that the other agents had got up to go about their assigned tasks. Viv had settled herself at her PC, but was looking back over at him with a concerned expression. That was all he needed.

"Shall we split the list? I'll take Sanchez and Fennings." Without waiting for Viv to respond, Danny turned and went to his own desk, which fortunately was on the opposite corner of the square from Viv's desk. He could feel her gaze hot on the back of his neck. Uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and started work. At that moment in time, he'd never heard a more welcome sound than the clacking of keys on Viv's computer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note:** Another note of thanks to DianeM for being an awesome beta. In this installment the casefile gets wrapped up and there's some serious movement on the J/S front. If you are reading this and have the time to review I'd be interested in knowing what you were thinking at the end of the last chapter and this one. While I suppose the ending is a foregone conclusion I'd still be interested to know what you guys were thinking about Alex and how that situation would play out. That sort of pacing and foreshadowing is something I want to work on for original works so any comments much appreciated. Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

_FBI Headquarters_

_That evening_

Alex checked her watch; she hadn't got a call, so she was due to meet Jack in a few minutes. Thinking about him always made her smile. There wasn't a word to properly describe what he was to her. They were both a little old for it to be boyfriend; lover could fit, but in her mind that implied a relationship built on sex. Although there was definitely nothing to complain about in that area, there was just so much more. She was falling for him and more than a little afraid of that. The last few months had been intense with the shooting, his divorce; the ramifications of his job almost change. She didn't, couldn't know whether he felt the same.

"Hey, you," she heard and behind her she felt a solid presence. Hands came to rest gently at her sides, skimming the top of her thighs. His breath was hot on the back of her neck. She turned round and they shared a long, slow kiss. "Ready to go?" Jack asked.

"Always,"

_FBI Headquarters_

_The next day_

"Danny, report," Danny looked up from his cup of coffee and shot his boss a death glare. He'd been up late last night at an AA meeting and Jack, the king of sleepless nights, was annoyingly chipper this morning.

"Nothing new on Fennings just the embezzlement stuff from before, although there's no withdrawals to suggest he paid Chloe off. As for Sanchez, he did have a big deposit in his bank account the day before Chloe went missing. He's been away for the last three weeks on vacation, but he's back today." Jack scowled. How had they missed this pay-off three months ago. The answer was simple: the shooting had put them all off-kilter and Max Fennings' suicide had allowed them to quickly close the case. There had been no tying up of loose ends like there was normally.

Martin picked up where Danny had tailed off, "Ted Simmonds is in the wind. He quit his job at the studio three weeks after Chloe disappeared. After that there's nothing. However, the studio does mandatory random drug testing. When I called yesterday they found that they still had a vial of Simmonds' blood. I've put a rush DNA on it." Jack opened his mouth to ask why he'd do that when Viv interrupted.

"Simmonds doesn't exist, Jack. There's nothing before he started at BL Studios, when he just seemed to pop out of thin air. I checked through his phone records again and there are several phone calls between his apartment and Tony Mercury's pizza parlor. Whoever he is, there's some connection between him and that murder case twenty years ago."

"I spoke with a couple of my contacts in the PD and apparently their organized crime unit has been in contact with Mercury. It seems he's trying to negotiate coming out of hiding. Apparently, he didn't know that Martin and Danny were with the FBI; he thought they were local gang members who he'd been having trouble with."

"Me, a gangbanger?" Martin laughed, "Now, I've heard everything," Sam smiled and shrugged.

"It takes all sorts,"

"Sir," Derek, the street agent from downstairs, was back, "Here are your DNA results, sir," he said as he handed a file to Jack.

Jack flipped open the file, "Yes! Ted Simmonds aka Ted Watts, brother to the late Jimmy Watts, the addict and boyfriend of Chloe's roommate who was killed the same night as Eddie Mercury."

"You think he was out for revenge?" Martin asked. "What made him wait twenty years?"

"That's something we'll have to ask him," Jack said, "Viv has the Californian office tracked down Chloe Larson yet?"

"Not yet. She's not living in LA or San Francisco; the small town country records take longer to check. They should have something by later today,"

"All right, well I guess we're just going to have to wait. Meanwhile, the Black case, I talked to Officer Rodreguiez and . . ."

_FBI Headquarters_

_That afternoon_

"Sam, the Californian office has brought in Ted and Chloe; they've set up a video interview in the conference room." Jack poked his head round the corner of the bullpen. Sam nodded, saved and closed the report she'd been working on for the Black case. Danny and Martin had gone to arrest Will Steer and Viv was notifying the wife. She did not envy her that. She then followed Jack to the conference room and took a seat. On the screen in front of her she could see a suntanned couple, holding hands and apparently happy. While she liked to find missing persons alive and well, a part of her was annoyed, particularly when the missing person knew the trouble they were causing.

"Miss Larson, Mr. Watts, I'm Jack Malone with the New York office of the FBI. I'm in charge of your missing person's case. Why don't you start the story from the very beginning," Chloe and Ted exchanged a long look before Ted started speaking.

"Jimmy Watts was my brother. I knew he was a lowlife and so when he wound up dead, I was sad but I didn't think much of it. However, about a year ago I got a call from Michelle Bygraves. She'd got some form of cancer and was loopy on drugs. All I managed to get from the conversation was that she blamed herself for Jimmy's death and something about her roommate. For the first time I really looked at my brother's death, there wasn't a lot available. No one seemed to care about his death; the murder of a mafia guy was much more important. I wanted to know what happened, so I moved to New York and got a job with BL Studios. I thought I could get to know Chloe and then finally find out the truth."

"Did you intend to harm Miss Larson," Sam asked, unable to believe that he'd uproot his whole life for a brother he didn't profess to have cared about much just to hear a story.

Ted hesitated, "In truth I'm not sure what my early intentions were. Life wasn't going so great for me at the time I got the call. I'd just been made redundant; my girlfriend of four years dumped me for another guy. One thing I know for certain is that once I started to get to know her, even before she told me what happened, I could never have hurt her." Ted looked over at Chloe and gave her a warm, tender smile. "Everything would have been fine. I would have had to have come clean about my identity, but I didn't see that as a major obstacle. Then the Mafia found out."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I had talked to Tony Mercury. It seems stupid looking back on it; I just thought he'd have more information. It restarted his interest in the case. At the time the police had somehow managed to protect the identities of Michelle, her brother Peter and, of course, Chloe. My questioning meant that he found Chloe. He wanted answers like me, but more than that, he wanted revenge. I had to get her out; the possible danger to her made me realize how much I loved her, how I couldn't bear to live without her. So I confessed and persuaded her to leave town. She was mad at me for weeks afterwards, but it's worked out."

"Are we in a lot of trouble, Agent Malone?" Chloe asked, her hand clutching convulsively at Ted's.

"You've wasted federal time, Miss Larson . . ."

"Actually it's Mrs. Watts now," Chloe interrupted.

"Mrs. Watts, as I was saying, you've wasted federal time. You knew we were looking for you, we feared the worst. I'll have to talk with my superior to see if you are to be charged. Now, why don't you tell me exactly what happened twenty years ago. I understand from the case file that you were less than co-operative then as well."

"Yes," Chloe looked down, her eyes becoming haunted. Sam was reminded that she'd been at the office late at night. That night twenty years ago had definitely left its mark. "Here's what happened . . ."

_~ Flashback twenty years ago ~_

A black, automatic glock pistol was lying on the table. Two clips for the gun were next to it, one already in the chamber. The acrid smell of gunpowder rose up to assault her nostrils. The gun had already been used once that evening. Slowly she reached down, pausing slightly when the cool, smooth steel touched her hand. The gun made her feel a little safer, which was why they'd bought it in the first place -- for protection. She moved forward and pushed the door, wincing as it creaked. She gagged at the sight in front of her, blood everywhere, pooling in a pattern and then moving into drag markings towards the fire escape, one of the only apartments in the building to have their own. The feeling of the gun in her hand did nothing to comfort her as her eyes followed the trail of blood to the body, Jimmy, Michelle's boyfriend. Suddenly a man swung in the window from the fire escape, she screamed and reflexively pulled the trigger. The gun didn't fire.

"The safeties back on," Peter explained. Peter was Michelle's brother. Peter had killed Jimmy. "Now help me with him; we need to clean up a little bit in here."

"I don't . . ."

"He sold Michelle to Eddie Mercury to help pay off his drug debt. When Michelle sad no, Eddie he . . . he took it anyway. Now help me." Numb with shock, Chloe put the gun down on the side and followed Peter's lead.

_~ End flashback twenty years ago ~_

"That's what happened," Chloe finished. Jack nodded. There was no statute of limitations on murder, so he'd call the PD, have them pick up Peter Bygraves. He was out of borrowed time.

_FBI Headquarters_

_A couple of hours later_

Viv rapped gently on Jack's office door. She'd decided to do something that would rock the boundaries of their friendship, and given its recent tender state, she was loathe to do that. However, she couldn't not say anything, not any longer, not when rumours were saying it was getting pretty serious.

"Hey, two cases in one day, not a bad day's work," Jack smiled. With each second that passed, his smile disappeared a little more, something was bothering Viv. "How'd it go with the wife?"

"The same as it always goes," Viv replied, taking a seat in front of the desk. "Jack, as your friend, I have to say something,"

"I take it this isn't case related," Jack quipped. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it. Viv didn't call him on many decisions on the job; she called him on even less in his personal life. In fact, the only time he could remember her doing so, apart from the now infamous bullpen fight, was when he'd been with Samantha for the first time. She'd been forced to cover for him with Maria, and she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't happy about that and told him to get it together.

"No, Jack it's about Alex." Viv held up her hand to stall the forthcoming protest. "I wasn't going to say anything, just let you work through it on your own, but she's really starting to care about you Jack and that's not fair."

"I don't know what . . . "

"Let me finish. I knew about you and Samantha, probably almost before you knew about it yourselves. When you had your affair I wasn't surprised. What did surprise me is that it wasn't just an affair. You fell for her, Jack, and she fell for you. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, she still has feelings for you if her reaction to you moving to Chicago was any indication. Anyway, that's not important; what is important is that Alex is Sam's double."

"What?" Jack queried faintly.

"I don't understand how you can't have noticed, Jack. Now, I could be wrong about this. You could be with her for her, but if you're not, if you're with her because of who she reminds you of, stop it now before it's too late. Be careful, Jack," Viv warned, standing up. She'd said her piece, and she hoped Jack had listened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors Note:** DianeM is an awesome beta, any mistakes are my own. Thanks for the reviews, in particular JackofSpade who has gone back and reviewed every chapter. I don't do this for the reviews but they do make me smile. As per the schedule I will be updating on the 25th if I remember, I want to get this completely posted before the New Year. Merry Christmas and enjoy.

* * *

_FBI Headquarters_

_That evening_

"Hey." Jack felt a set of arms wrap around him from behind. He was in the bullpen, taking the picture of Rodger Black from the board, clearing the area, ready for a new day and another missing person.

"I'm almost done," Jack told her as he packed up the case file box. Alex took the board wiper and cleared the timeline from it. With both of them the area was clear within minutes. "Thanks,"

"You're welcome." Alex held a fist of Jack's jacket and used it to pull him close for a kiss. She smiled and started to walk towards the exit. Jack didn't move, his mind working overtime. Alex glanced back towards him and said, "Come on, Jack," only it wasn't Alex, it was Sam. She kept on walking towards the exit and when she turned back again she was again Alex. Shaking himself, Jack walked towards her; he didn't like it but there was something he had to do.

On the other side of the bullpen Samantha stood watching him; she'd seen the whole exchange. They used to do that, clean up and go back to her apartment. Unbidden, a single tear trickled down her cheek, furiously she wiped it away. What she'd had with Jack had been over years ago; she'd done enough crying over him. He'd moved on from her, and it seemed that they were never in the right place for each other. He was married, she was free, she was free he was seeing someone. Perhaps the only attraction was that she was the other woman? Maybe it had just been the thrill for him; perhaps that was why he'd not attempted anything with her now. She had thought that he needed time to mourn his marriage, but he seemed to have moved on with Alex easily enough – Alex, not her.

_Martin's apartment_

_That same night_

A half empty bottle of scotch sat on the table. Martin stared morosely at the photo he held in his hands. It was of the team last Christmas. Smiling broadly, Danny had one arm slung over his shoulders and his other arm around Viv . He never saw Danny smile these days. He was standing next to Samantha. There was no motion in photographs --they were after all a moment captured in time -- but he knew that if he looked close enough, his eyes weren't looking at the camera, they were looking at her. Even back then, before they'd had their one night, he was besotted with her.

Martin sighed heavily. It was time to face facts: his life in New York was over. He remembered the first girl he told that he loved her. She'd slapped him; they'd only been out once and she'd thought he was getting fresh. There'd been another couple of similar incidents over the years, enough that his father had started to get concerned about bad press, Martin thought bitterly. He'd all but ordered him to see a psychiatrist. The shrink had made him talk for several sessions; he didn't ask many questions just got Martin to spill all the details of his life. He then told him what was wrong with him.

'_I've seen it before. A physically absent father and an emotionally absent mother, left to grow up alone, shipped away to relatives during vacations because of the inconvenience of raising a child. You crave intimacy, you need far more out of every relationship and you need it instantly. Your feelings are being magnified, you don't really love these women, no one falls in love that quickly. You love what they represent. Be careful, Martin.'_

Ever since then as well as he could, he'd moved about the country. Leaving every city with a broken heart, knowing it would be healed and broken again at his next destination. Every time he thought it would be different, and so far it had always been the same. Decision made.

_FBI Headquarters_

_The next day_

"What's this?" Danny demanded, throwing a sheet of paper on Martin's desk. Martin looked up at his angry friend, perversely grateful that for once Danny wasn't looking at him with regret and treating him like he was going to break.

"It's a transfer request form," Martin said softly. Danny swallowed hard and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

"Is it because of me?" Danny asked, his voice so quiet Martin almost didn't hear him.

"No, Danny, we just all need new starts sometimes." Danny didn't look reassured, "Look, Danny, you have to stop blaming yourself, you did the best you could. If our situations were reversed, would you blame me?"

"Of course not," Danny replied automatically

"Then why are you blaming you?" Martin paused for a moment, watching Danny digest this thought. He knew it would take more than this to persuade his friend, but hopefully Viv would be up to the task. "You've been a great friend, Danny, stay in touch, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course," Danny agreed distractedly, looking pensive rather than angsty in his distraction for the first time in months.

_FBI Headquarters_

_The same time_

Jack stared at the envelope on his desk. He knew what it was. It was the final papers for his divorce. He'd signed last week and this would be his legal copy, officially certifying that it was all over. He looked at the picture of Kate and Hanna that he kept on his desk. That was his only regret, that he hadn't found someway of being there for his daughters. Perhaps he should have moved to Chicago, that way he would have at least been in the same city. Chicago wasn't his home, New York was. His life was here, Chicago was all Maria. He looked over at Viv out in the bullpen, working hard on the paperwork closing the Larson and Black cases had generated. She was a good friend. Next to her was Sam. Jack frowned, she didn't look well, like she'd hardly slept. Well, he needed a word anyway tonight, and as much as it hurt (which perhaps should have been a clue), he would ask after her and Martin. He'd seen the transfer request form before Danny had liberated it and that was probably why she was so upset. Why Martin was transferring he couldn't fathom, although looking at his record it seemed to be a pattern. Jack shrugged before he decided that he'd procrastinated long enough and started his own report.


	11. Chapter 11

**Authors Note:** DianeM is a fantastic beta. I couldn't have done this without her help and support. Merry Christmas everybody. I feel a little like Santa posting this chapter on christmas day. It is _the_ chapter. I hope you all enjoy and have a great christmas. The concluding epilogue will be up Monday.

* * *

_FBI Headquarters_

_That night_

"Sam, can I have a word?" Jack called after her. Sam turned, she'd been on her way home, the whole team was leaving. The day had been nothing but paperwork, so nothing to stay and do overtime on. Danny looked at her curiously. Had he been himself, he might have made a crack about this, but he wasn't himself, not quite.

"What can I do for you, Jack?" Samantha asked. Jack hesitated and sat on the edge of his desk because being behind it was so impersonal for what he wanted to say.

"Two years ago we had a conversation on a bench outside the courthouse," Jack began, keeping his eyes firmly averted on the floor. He'd never imagined even back then that things between them could ever be so awkward.

"I remember," Sam said neutrally.

"I . . . Sam, I said it last time and now I need to hear you say it," Jack stumbled over his words. In between paperwork he'd been rehearsing this all day, but he hadn't stuck to his prepared script at all.

"Why, Jack? You're with Alex . . ."

"No, I'm not," Jack interrupted as he tiredly ran a hand through his hair, "You're with Martin, I know."

"Jack," Sam paused, she had no idea he'd believed that. She had no idea that he'd known that they'd even spent the night together; she didn't think anyone knew that. What on earth had given him the impression that she and Martin were a couple? "Martin and I aren't together, we were never together. Well apart from one night, the night you were supposed to move."

Jack stopped for a moment, stopped everything, even breathing it seemed, because suddenly his chest felt very tight. He couldn't have heard her say what she'd just said. He couldn't have been that wrong, could he? Everything that had happened had been based on his assumption that she was with Martin. If that had been wrong, then Viv was right. He had to listen to her more often -- when she was right, she was right.

"I didn't know, I thought, it doesn't matter what I thought. Hell there always seems to be something. Maybe, maybe we're just not meant to be."

"Or maybe you just need to try harder," Sam countered. Jack's head snapped up so fast he probably got whiplash. Did that mean? Was she trying to say? "But, Jack, I won't be the other woman again, I . . ."

"I broke up with Alex last night," Jack interrupted. "I realized that it wasn't her that was making me happy." Jack looked up into Sam's eyes; he could drown in those eyes and not care. They could communicate so much, they didn't need to talk, their eyes talked for them.

"You want to get a coffee?" Jack offered, a slight smile gracing his lips. Sam smirked in response.

"Why, Agent Malone, I do believe you're propositioning me,"


	12. Epilogue

**Authors Note:** Well this is it, this is the end. It's been a very long journey and I couldn't have made it without help. As I said at the beginning of the first chapter, this story has had five betas; Cynically Optimistic, Agent P!nk, Agent Spade, Malinche and finally DianeM. Crafting this story also took the best part of three or four years, I did have a big break in the middle though. Anyway this is the end, thanks to DianeM for betaaing this part, her eyes are the only ones that have combed over this. Thanks to everybody who has reviewed, in particular thanks to Jbird and JackofSpade for reviewing every chapter, thanks for the constructive criticism and the noting of favourite parts. I've been firmly bitten by the writing bug again so expect to see more J/S works from me soon. Enjoy!

* * *

_The Malone Residence_

_Two years later_

Jack had never realized he could be so happy. He'd married Maria because he cared for her and loved that she cared for him as well. He'd thought that that was all there was to it. He hadn't realized until he'd met Sam exactly what he'd been missing all those years. True, the last two years hadn't been all smooth sailing. When they'd got engaged last Christmas, there had been the thorny issue of OPR to deal with. Both of them loved Missing Persons, but they couldn't work in the same unit, not and be together publicly. In the end, he had been the one who had stepped aside. He'd taken over another unit, this one focusing on general cases that had federal jurisdiction. It was interesting and varied work; it wasn't his first choice, but being able to be with Sam more than made up for that. Plus, it meant that Viv finally got the top spot. That was his main reason as to why he should transfer and not Sam. He wanted Viv to have the job he'd denied her.

Sam had never realized that she could be so happy. True, it hadn't all been happily ever after. Jack had had to transfer units when they decided that they wanted to go public and get married. She missed working with him; the team wasn't the same without him. The team hadn't been the same in a while. In her mind she'd come to term Jack, Viv, Danny and Martin as the golden team. Viv and Danny were still there and the same as ever, although Viv was the boss now and Danny freelanced after work giving legal advice to those who couldn't afford it at his local community centre. There were two new team members, Paul Travis, a quiet introverted ex-Marine who'd joined the FBI from the crime lab, something to do with an explosion that no one talked about. Then there was Elena Delgado, who had made no secret of the fact that this wasn't her first choice assignment but who had stayed anyway. She thought that there might be something between her and Danny. She hoped it worked out because Danny deserved happiness, everyone did. She hoped that Martin would find it eventually. He had stayed in touch, as promised, although contact was sporadic. She gathered from Danny that he was moving again, to LA this time. Whatever he was searching for, she hoped he found it -- she certainly had.

"Hey, what you thinking about?" Jack asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind as they stood staring out of their window at the New York skyline.

"What are we doing, Jack?"

"We're looking out of the window at the disappointing sunset, I'm wondering how I got to be so lucky and trying to think of a way to proposition you," Jack summarized. Sam looked up at him and met his eyes. He smirked, "Or I could just do this," and with that he kissed her, kissed her so she could feel it. His kisses were always intense, always took her breath away and she reckoned they always would.


End file.
